


The Seventh Sister of Oberwesel

by agentx13



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, seven sisters folklore, sharon carter month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentx13/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: The legend of the seven sisters says that seven sisters were too proud to marry, and for their pride, they were turned into rocks beneath the water. But the legend isn't true.The youngest sister was the only one to escape, but she returns to Oberwesel every few decades, and on one such trip, she meets another immortal and his friends...
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18
Collections: Sharon Carter Month





	The Seventh Sister of Oberwesel

Sharon sits by the edge if the balcony and gazes out down at the river. She hasn't been here in decades, but the Rhine River flows just as deceptively calm as it had centuries before. The water is too high to see the stones, but she knows the stones are there. Just beneath the surface. Where they've been for centuries.

There's a man across the way, but she doesn't meet his eye no matter how often he looks at her. She hopes he doesn't try to flirt with her. She's never been one for romance. Less so now.

In time, she pays for her food, swings by her room in the hotel, and meanders downhill the town. The weather is pleasant. Early fall. Leaves just beginning to change. She'll go to the Black Forest after this. She'd always loved how the leaves changed in the Black Forest.

In Oberwesel, she takes her time refamiliarizing herself with the town. It never ceases to amaze her how things change and yet don't. The apothecary is still an apothecary, though owned by a different family. Some of the restaurants are still around, though several of the recipes have changed. 

She buys a ticket for a walking tour. There are enough tourists at this time of year - here for the wine, most likely - that there's a small crowd. She notices the man from the hotel, but he no longer looks at her as he did before. She's glad. She's had enough of men, regardless of how good they may or may not appear. Not that he might appear- he doesn't.

The tour is enjoyable for the most part. Many of the stories are so far off base she almost laughs. The story of the seven stones is still heartbreaking, but no worse than it was centuries before.

When the tour is over, she makes her way back to the Castle Hotel. She takes her time, enjoying the paths, some new and others familiar. She eats dinner alone, watching the lights of the towns up and down the river come alive. Cruise ships and shipping vessels glide along the river.

She wakes in the middle of the night. The man. She knows why he looked at her. Because she recognizes him now.

1957\. Paris. 

And he doesn't look a day older now than he did then.

* * *

She finds him at breakfast on the terrace and sits across from him without waiting for an invitation.

“Please, have a seat,” he says dryly.

“I didn’t recognize you yesterday.”

“And today?”

“I recognize you.”

They sit and watch each other in silence as the waiter serves the table beside them and pours Sharon’s water. When they’re sure no one is listening in, he says, “I’m offended it took you so long.”

“You didn’t leave much of an impression last time.”

“I stepped on your foot.”

“You left a _bad_ impression last time.”

“A memorable one, though.”

They stop talking again as the child from the table nearby screeches for attention.

“Perhaps somewhere else,” Sharon suggests.

He nods and leaves a couple euros on the table before they saunter to the gardens. Here, too, there are too many people. “We could dodge room service,” he suggests.

She doesn’t want to be trapped in a room with him. She doesn’t know him. Without a word, she leads the way toward town.

“Or not.”

“How do you still look the same?” she asks.

“Medical experiment. You?”

“Same. When did you go through with the experiment?”

“1942. And you?”

She hesitates. “1201.”

He stumbles. “Damn. You’re- you’re _way_ older than you look.” At her glare, he holds up his hands. “Sorry. What are you doing here?”

She turns her face toward the river, toward the stones beneath the river. “I lived here a while. I still come back from time to time. You?”

“A buddy and I worked one of the Rhine cruise ships for a season. I wanted to see more of the places we went by. He and a friend might meet up with me here soon. He’s like me. The friend isn’t, though he knows about us.”

“You- do you know many people like us? Have you told many people about your… condition?”

He shrugs. “Not really, no. People can get weird after they know. You?”

She shakes her head. “Never. Too many people...” She shrugs. “It isn’t wise.”

He nods. “Yeah. I imagine women like you have it tougher than men like me. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Here it comes, she thinks, dreading it. She’ll have to reject him. 

“Have you ever found a cell phone that was truly intuitive?”

Well. She hadn’t expected _that._

* * *

They end up eating breakfast in town and wandering around until they end up eating lunch and dinner. They eat breakfast together the next morning. All of it is comparing notes, or talking about places and people. She knows places and languages and myths and legends. He knows museums and battlefields and people and can paint a picture with his words in a way she would find charming if she could find things charming. They both know history, and they sometimes debate when they disagree. There’s something invigorating about it, but she tries not to think about it too much.

He doesn’t push to come to her room, nor does he invite her to his. She dreads the moment it will happen, the moment she’ll see him for the man with an agenda that he must be. But no, all he asks is what her name is, and it’s then that she realizes she’s never asked his. Steve. Steve Rogers.

“You do that a lot,” he notes over lunch one day. It’s one of the many lunches they’ve eaten together. She’s beginning to lose track. All she knows is that she’s extended her stay twice now, and the staff sometimes give her knowing smiles that she tries to ignore.

“Hmm?”

“Look to the river.”

“Oh. Just thinking.”

“Obviously,” he says, but he doesn’t push. “I was thinking about buying some art supplies in town and painting a bit today. If you want to come along.”

“Sure.”

She buys a book while he buys supplies, and they walk along the mountains, stopping as he sizes up different scenes, and then he stops and nods to himself. “Here’s good.” He sets up, and she makes herself comfortable nearby. He doesn’t try to talk, and she doesn’t, either. There’s something companionable in the silence. 

On the way back, she asks, “Where are you going after this?”

He shrugs. “Probably south. Buck doesn’t like the cold, so we go south in the winter. Like snowbirds. Why?”

“Just wondering. I was thinking about getting an apartment here.”

“If you get an apartment, you might have to get a job.”

“A job.” She smiles. She assumes he’s joking.

“You’ll be bored out of your mind otherwise,” he points out. “It’s not a big town.”

He isn’t joking.

“You’d need a way to pass the time.”

“I couldn’t talk with you to pass the time?”

“No, because if I stayed here, I’d get a job, too. I’m already painting to try and keep busy.”

“Oh.” In the past, she’s been led to believe that her company is enough to keep men engaged and content. She isn’t sure if she ought to be relieved or upset that he isn’t like the others.

“If you find a place to stay, we’ll split the costs with you,” he suggests.

She could pay for it all herself, but people knowing how wealthy she is tends to end badly. “What budget should I aim for?”

“Let’s see what jobs we can get first.”

* * *

It’s harder than she anticipates. He finds part-time work in an art gallery and another part-time job at an art museum. In his spare time he does sketches and paintings for tourists along the river.

She finds a house for rent. It’s the best she can do with the budget he suggested. It has four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The washer and dryer are in one of the bathrooms. The kitchen doesn’t have a pantry, just shelves over the stove. The “breakfast nook” the realtor had praised is a table shoved so tightly into a space by a window that Sharon can’t pull it out. Still, she thinks it will do. The most important thing, to her, is the terrace that looks over the river.

By the time his friends arrive, she has a job as a waitress, and the house is ready.

* * *

His friends are, of course, Americans. Sam asks her not to hold it against them, and she promises to try. 

They eat dinner in their house. Steve does most of the cooking – he claims Sharon is hopeless about cooking, and she doesn’t disagree – so she talks with them while he moves about the kitchen. Bucky and Sam each get up from time to time to add some spice or other – the kitchen is very close to where they’ve set up their dining area. 

She likes his friends. They’re easy-going and relaxed. They don’t push. They’re polite but informal. They assure her they won’t set foot in one bathroom, that it’s all hers, without being asked or warned.

They find jobs almost as quickly as Steve. They settle into a routine of sorts, even with their varying schedules. They eat breakfast with whoever is up at the time before heading out. Eat lunch and dinner the same way. At the end of the day, the men unwind in front of the TV, chatting and rooting for some sports team. Sharon likes sitting on the couch and being a part of the group, talking with them and cheering for whatever team is on, the friendly wagers and teasing that happen when they root for different teams, but she finds herself, more and more often, on the terrace, looking out to the stones in the river, the wind tugging at her air and turning colder as the days grow shorter. If she didn’t know better, she’d say something was calling her. But no. It’s just a yearning. One she’s felt before. And one she’ll feel again. Because what she wants, she’ll never have.

* * *

She’s gets fired from her job. A tourist hits on her while his wife is in the bathroom, and when the wife sees, she gets angry with the husband, who blames Sharon for everything. It shouldn’t be a firing offense. They’re tourists. They’re obviously lying. But some of the other servers, jealous of how many hours Sharon has picked up, back up the husband.

“You’re home early,” Sam greets her. “Don’t suppose you want a hambur- whoa. You okay?”

Sharon’s face is red with shame. “I got fired today,” she says, her voice quiet. 

The TV’s sound goes off. “What happened?” Bucky asks.

“She got fired,” Sam says. “Would a hamburger help you feel better?”

She stares at him, mystified that anything might make her feel better. “I got _fired,_ ” she repeats, her voice catching. And with that, the tears break loose. 

She’s guided to the couch and sat down. They assure her that they, too, have been fired, and they tell her several stories. Sam has the fewest – he claims it’s because he’s the youngest and also absolutely perfect.

“It just feels so wretched,” she murmurs.

“Like you’re not good enough or didn’t do a good enough job,” Steve says.

She nods miserably. “It was bound to happen, though. Men like that.”

“No argument here,” Sam says. “Too many men are assholes.”

Bucky leans forward. “Want us to beat him up for you?” he offers.

She shakes her head. “No, no. Maybe.”

Bucky grins. “Point him out when you decide to let us at him.”

Sam shoves a plate in her hands. “Hamburger. Eat up.”

She takes a bite. It _is_ good. Not like the burgers around here. It’s gone in minutes. “That was quite good.”

He grins at her. “I’ll make you another. Because you appreciate fine cooking so much.”

“Thank you.” She curls up on the couch and looks toward the window. “What really pisses me off is how it keeps happening,” she says softly.

“You get fired from waitressing?” Bucky teases.

“No, the story.” She feels Steve’s eyes steadily on her. “You’ve heard the story of the seven sisters.” She’s known them long enough. She almost trusts them completely.

“Taunted their suitors and drowned in the Rhine,” Steve says. “Very sexist story, to say the least.”

“We weren’t sisters.” With that, she can feel their attention on her. “More like a group of women. Betty, Jane, and Helen were scientists in an age when women had almost no power at all. Pepper was a successful businesswoman in her own right. A landholder. Natasha, and my aunt, Peggy, were diplomats and spies. We stuck together because the world was unkind to women who wanted to maintain their own power. We all knew that as soon as we married, we would have to answer to our husbands first. They would get everything we had, including our bodies. We didn’t have anyone to protect us but ourselves. The castle? Schonburg? We lived there as guests for a while. But then men came who wouldn’t be told no. One of them had power. Not magic, exactly. It had to be science, just… science we didn’t understand. We tried to run, and he capsized the boat we were in. He tried to trap us under rocks, but Natasha pushed me out of the way.” She quiets. “Sometimes I think they’re still there,” she admits. “Still alive. That’s why I can’t stay away from this place.”

“You win the brownie,” Bucky says. “Which means I have to make brownies.” He hops up and joins Sam in the kitchen.

“What?” Sharon asks.

“It’s from a movie,” Steve explains. “Thank you,” he says, his blue eyes boring into hers. “For telling us.”

She tries to ignore the way it feels when he looks at her like that.

Dinner comprises another burger, some freshly-made brownies, and a whole lot of wine.

After, while they’re all sagging over the couches, Steve says, “You should see if you can be a tour guide. You’d put those other tour guides to shame.”

* * *

She takes his advice, but the tourism companies tells her they have no more slots to fill. It’s a long-shot, but Sharon treks up to the hotel to see if they can offer advice for something she hasn’t tried yet.

“Give me a tour,” the man at the desk says. He waves over a man. “Cover the desk.”

Sharon is unprepared to give a tour, but she knows better than to show it. “Why don’t we start here?” She gives him a tour of the public parts of the establishment as it had been in her day, and together, they walk to town as Sharon passes the time talking about sites up and down the river. In town, she takes him to the more historic sites and tells him of annual events and their origins, as well as her version of the seven sisters – leaving out how one sister survived. By the time she’s done, three hours have passed, and she walks with him back up to the castle.

“You might want to trim it down a bit,” the man says when they get back to the foyer. “And save some for the way back. But otherwise, I’d say you have a deal. If someone asks for a tour, I’ll call you first.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Sharon says, meaning it. “Mr...”

“Hutti,” he says. “My family owns the castle.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Sharon says. “Officially, that is.”

They talk some more, but it’s only on her way out when a picture behind the counter catches her eye. It’s a group shot in the banquet hall. She remembers that night. Knows she hadn’t seen the camera in time to hide. She hadn’t been able to destroy the roll of film before leaving town. But Mr. Hutti doesn’t mention her looking familiar, and she doesn’t, either. She’ll just have to hope no one notices her in the picture.

* * *

She takes Steve, Sam, and Bucky on separate tours to get their thoughts and impressions. She also realizes she needs to learn far more about the city as it currently is in case people have questions, and she goes out of her way to familiarize herself with as much as possible. She becomes especially friendly with the librarian as she learns more of the city’s history. By the time she gives a tour to some hotel guests, she’s ready.

She finds she enjoys giving tours. She learned how to entertain – a person or a group – from the time she was young, and she’s only gained practice in the hundreds of years since. Before long, she’s highly recommended, and if it’s possible, she’s almost… happy.

On one of her weekly visits to the library, the librarian, Clea, shows her a photocopy. It’s a painting of Pepper, Betty, Jane, Peggy, Natasha, Helen, and herself.

“This must be one of my ancestors,” Sharon says, the lie rolling off her tongue.

“I figured,” Clea says. “She looks too much like you not to be related. You should keep it. It’ll only gather dust around here...”

At home, Sharon hangs the picture in her bedroom and cries.

* * *

The others don’t know what to do for Sunday of the Dead. She tries to explain that it’s like All Souls Day. They all go to church that day and take part in the festivities; they all know someone who’s died. Know too many who have died.

The day after, though, the Christmas markets open all throughout Germany. Oberwesel isn’t excluded, and the city square is transformed with booths and fair rides. The four of them go, and Sharon isn’t surprised that she and Steve wind up wandering on their own. Sam has family and friends to buy gifts for, while the others don’t know as many living people, and Bucky avoids third-wheeling Steve and Sharon, or so he claims. Not that there’s anything to third-wheel.

Together they browse the items for sale and laugh when they see children doing something silly. They buy sweets and get some of the free mulled wine until they’re feeling giddy. They talk and banter and argue and tease and walk too close, and Sharon doesn’t mind when she realizes they’re holding hands. She isn’t sure who started it, but she doesn’t pull away, instead content to let him lead.

They stay in the cold air and drink mulled wine and shop and stand too close until the square empties as children go to bed and tourists go to pubs, and she and Steve head back home.

This time, she tugs him toward her room, and he goes. They lie on the bed, facing each other, and he tucks her in before they fall asleep.

* * *

The four of them go to buy a Christmas tree the next day. They find a short one that Sam calls a “Charlie Brown” tree, and they put it on the table in the breakfast nook and set it up with as many lights and ornaments as they can.

Bucky and Sam notice how much more festive their neighbors are, and they make determine that the neighbors have issued them a challenge. Before long, everything is chaotically festive, and Sharon could swear she is happy.

The season brings invitations to Christmas parties. At the hotels that use Sharon as a tour guide (she’s developed something of a reputation), at the library where she does her research, at Steve’s art gallery, at Sam’s restaurant, at Bucky’s football pitch. The four of them go to all of them. She finds herself alone with Steve more and more, and she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t even mind that some people mistake them for a couple.

“What if we were?” she asks him.

“Were what?”

“A couple,” she says.

He looks at her, that same intense look like she’s the only one he sees, and he opens his mouth to speak. Then he stops. Looks away. “I won’t ask.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to ask you out. I’m not going to ask you to marry me,” he tells her. She tries to ignore how her heart feels painfully tight. She tries to hide her pain on her face. “You have good reason not to trust men. Hundreds of years. I get it. So I’m not going to ask you. I’m going to let you ask me.” He looks at her again, then adds hastily, “If you want. Not that I’m assuming.”

“What if I do trust you?” she asks.

“I won’t ask you to,” he insists.

She looks around for Bucky and Sam but doesn’t see them. She takes Steve’s hand and leads him back home. This time, they don’t simply lie in her bed until they fall asleep.

* * *

They’re American, and they all have their separate traditions. It amazes her how traditions change over time. In her day, Christmas was a day to feast if one could afford it, and there might be a couple gifts, but for them, there’s gifts and relaxation and eating. They agree to open one present each on Christmas Eve, and they plan Christmas dinner (at lunch? Americans), then decide which American football games they’ll watch.

She’s pleased when Sam and Bucky open the joint gift she got them. They tear open the wrapping, and then they freeze as they take it in. For a moment, she’s terrified that she’s misjudged them. And then the screaming begins. “NERF GUNS? YOU’RE GOING DOWN!”

“Yours is under the tree,” she whispers at Steve. Technically, it’s under the breakfast table.

He grins at her as Bucky and Sam race outside to shoot each other. “I think you should open this one.” He slides a small wrapped box toward her, and she smiles at him before she opens it.

Inside is a thin, antique ring with a tiny sapphire in the middle.

“It’s my mother’s,” he says nervously. “I thought- if you want-”

“I- I love it,” she says softly. She’s never said the L word around him before. “Thank you.” She leans over to kiss him.

He clears his throat. “I know I said I’d make you ask, but I was wondering… would you- do you want to, I mean. Will you- Will you marry me?” His voice cracks halfway through, and he clears his throat again.

She feels that familiar strain of fear, and it takes a couple seconds to silence it. She knows him. She trusts him. He’s a good man. He treats her well, better than she ever thought a man would. She leans over. “Yes,” she whispers. She kisses him again.

But this kiss is different. This time, there’s a reverberation. A heat that doesn’t burn. She freezes.

“Everything okay?” His hands hover over her shoulders as if afraid to touch her.

“Something’s different.” She turns her head to the river. “Something’s different,” she repeats. She’s barely aware of getting to her feet, of leaving the house and going down to the river. She doesn’t pay any heed to Steve, Bucky, or Sam as they follow her and call for her to slow down. She feels like she’s in a fog, and all her focus is on the river.

By the time she gets there, people are already pulling women out of the water. She sees the familiar raven hair, the familiar red hair. The familiar faces. She covers her mouth and makes it to Betty, wrapping her arms around before she collapses and sobs. 

The townspeople provide coats and blankets and food and dry clothes. A doctor comes to check them out. No one seems surprised by their medieval garb. Language has changed in the past centuries, but not so much that communication is impossible. Sharon doesn’t leave them through all of it, answering questions asked and unasked, explaining new fashions and medical devices and techniques. She’s so happy that she can’t stop crying, and when she looks around for Steve, he’s standing toward the back of the crowd.

“Is that him?” Natasha asks.

Sharon looks at her in surprise.

“We felt it,” Betty explains. “We were asleep. And then we began waking up. Is he why?”

“Maybe,” Sharon says, watching him. She can’t leave her sisters now, she realizes. She isn’t pained by it, not really.

“It’s true!” a child exclaims.

Sharon raises an eyebrow at the child, and he immediately dives behind his mother. She looks around for someone to explain and sees Hutti. “What’s true?”

“We have a legend,” he says carefully. “Only in town, mind. We don’t tell the tourists. We can’t trust them to tell the legend right. The seven sisters. Most people think the sisters were imprisoned in stone by God, upset with their haughty ways.”

“What?” Betty looks around. “What nonsense.”

Clea steps forward. “We know. It was a warlock. Magic was more common back then. But there’s more to the story. There was a witch in our town at the time. Me, actually. I was younger then. I saw Sharon escape the stone. I didn’t have the skill to undo the curse, but I could change it so that someone impacted by the curse – or meant to be – could break the curse themselves. I put a spell on her. The sisters were cursed because they would not give into any man, good or bad. But if Sharon could find it within her heart to trust a man, the power of that trust would break the curse and free her sisters.”

“And no one told me?” Sharon demands.

“No one could,” she said. “Or else you would never truly trust. You would always have half an eye on freeing your sisters. The trust had to be true to break the curse. This has been a guarded town story for centuries. We’ve recorded sightings of you for generations, always hoping you’d meet someone to trust while you were here. Your story started here. Only right it should end here.”

Sharon goes quiet. Natasha reaches out to hold her hand.

Bucky pushed his way through the crowd. “If you don’t mind, it might be wise to get these ladies inside. We have room in our house, and I believe they’re already familiar with Sharon. They can get warm there.”

Sam comes up beside him. “And we have plenty of leftovers.”

“We’ll bring some more food by,” Hutti offers. “Six more mouths to feed unexpectedly isn’t always easy.” He makes no mention of the story he’d just told Sharon and her sisters.

“We’d be grateful,” Steve says. He doesn’t meet Sharon’s eye as he helps Jane to her feet.

* * *

Their small house is the center of activity for the rest of the night as people drop off food, clothes, and blankets. Her sisters fall asleep soon after eating, unaccustomed to spending so much time awake, and Bucky, Sam, and Steve carry them to beds. Sharon assures them they can sleep two to a bed, three if the beds are big enough, but the men feel better about two to a bed. It leaves only the bed in Sharon’s room.

“We’ll sleep on the floor,” Bucky says.

“Yeah. That’s all we’ll do,” Sam agrees, Nerf gun held behind his back.

“Thank you,” Sharon tells them. “For everything.” She takes Steve’s hand and leads him toward her bedroom, but his hand doesn’t hold hers in return. Once alone in her room, she closes the door. “Are you all right?” she asks.

“You’re going to leave now, aren’t you. They’re back, and you’ll have to take care of them and help them adjust.”

“Yes,” she admits. “But I was thinking. Maybe you could help me with it? I like having you around.” She bites her lip. “I love you,” she corrects. “I love having you around.”

“You’re sure?”

She nods. “I would never lie about this. Please grow older with me.”

“Forever and ever?”

“And ever and ever.”

He takes his mother’s ring from his pocket as she realizes that she must have dropped it. No wonder he’d been so unsure. He gets down on one knee and slides it on her finger. “And ever and ever,” he promises.

* * *

There are still seven stones underneath the water beside Oberwesel. They are empty now, and those meant to be caged there forever don’t care what ridiculous stories are told about them. They’re too busy familiarizing themselves with a bold new world and making their marks as scientists, businesswomen, diplomats, spies, adventurers, and tour guides.


End file.
